


a well-timed cup of tea

by blarbles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, just boring fluff to save our souls, nothing to see here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarbles/pseuds/blarbles
Summary: cw: gonna talk very briefly about suicidality Hey y'all. I was planning on uploading another chapter to my main story tonight, but Donald Trump got me down. I'm queer, and I'm scared, and the vast majority of my friends are queer and scared, and I've been slipping back into suicidal ideation, and I'm guessing a lot of you have been too. It's been awful. So the next couple of chapters of my main story are pretty much a huge bummer and I didn't feel like I could inflict them on you right now (like Jesus it hasn't even been 24 hours and I'm still in shock). So instead, I wrote this. Be warned that it is: boring, wordy, not too exciting, pre-slash, very rambly, basically just boring dialogue. I picture this taking place sometime during 3a-ish, but I can't even remember what season that occurs in. In my world, apparently, it's in July. This is just a quick one shot of Stiles working at the coffee shop and Derek coming down to talk (/flirt, but obliviously).title is from a first-sentence prompt pulled from tumblr. Thanks for everyone's inspiration and help!





	

**Author's Note:**

> cw: gonna talk very briefly about suicidality 
> 
> Hey y'all. I was planning on uploading another chapter to my main story tonight, but Donald Trump got me down. I'm queer, and I'm scared, and the vast majority of my friends are queer and scared, and I've been slipping back into suicidal ideation, and I'm guessing a lot of you have been too. It's been awful. So the next couple of chapters of my main story are pretty much a huge bummer and I didn't feel like I could inflict them on you right now (like Jesus it hasn't even been 24 hours and I'm still in shock). So instead, I wrote this. Be warned that it is: boring, wordy, not too exciting, pre-slash, very rambly, basically just boring dialogue. I picture this taking place sometime during 3a-ish, but I can't even remember what season that occurs in. In my world, apparently, it's in July. This is just a quick one shot of Stiles working at the coffee shop and Derek coming down to talk (/flirt, but obliviously).
> 
> title is from a first-sentence prompt pulled from tumblr. Thanks for everyone's inspiration and help!

It’s one of those hazy summer days that always gets Derek down. He wasn’t made for sunshine and clear skies. He loves clouds, rain, the sweet scent of lightning in the air before a storm. The wolf in him loves night punctuated by stars, thick California fog, and the feeling of safety he only gets from being blanketed in darkness.

Sunlight saps his energy. It illuminates the corners of his brain where he hides thoughts that he can otherwise keep in the shadows where they belong.

It’s so quiet in the loft that all he can hear is the occasional car driving past below as he lies on the bed, staring at the fan and counting hours until the day’s up. Then, his phone vibrates. 

_hey,_ it says, _you doing anything? work is dead, im so fuckin bored_

He frowns. _Who is this?_

_are you fucking kidding me? u still haven’t put my number in your phone? its literally been YEARS, derek, what the fuck is wrong with you?_

Stiles. Definitely Stiles. 

_look, if you’re not doing anything, come down, ill make you a cup of tea_

_Are you allowed to just give people free cups of tea?_

_didn’t say it was free, i just said come doooown im booooooooored_

He rolls his eyes. _Work is supposed to be boring._

_right now dude or im gonna go out of my fucking mind._

Derek glances out the window. The view from his bedroom is bleak—sunlight and cloudless skies for miles. With a sigh, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. He assesses the bookshelf, looking for the perfect thing to bring with him to read on this unbearably sunny day. He chooses one, grabs his keys, and heads for the front door.

 

Stiles is too engrossed in his phone to look up when the bell over the door chimes. He’s been leaning against the counter by the register for the last hour, scrolling through Facebook and pouring himself more iced coffee while dancing and humming to the indie tunes on the radio. 

“I like the apron,” says a voice in front of him. “Goes well with the plaid.”

“Oh look, it's Derek Hale: Fashion Icon,” Stiles says with a grin. “Nice of you to make it. Skipping the emo leather jacket, I see, but still tossing out casual judgments of others’ clothing choices.”

“It’s too damn hot,” Derek grumbles.

That’s fine with Stiles. It’s not like he’ll turn down the chance to see more of Derek’s arms than leather jackets allow. “Then it’s a good thing I made you an iced tea,” Stiles says. 

“What kind?” Derek says, frowning.

“Black with a hint of lemon and a sprig of mint.”

“Just one?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Two, if you behave,” says Stiles, grabbing the iced tea from the counter behind him and pushing it towards Derek. 

“What counts as behaving?” Derek asks. 

“Entertain me,” says Stiles. “Erica’s making out with Boyd somewhere and Lydia and Allison are probably at the mall and Scott and Isaac went to San Francisco to ask the pack leader about how _they_ coped with the alpha pack, and no one’s even come into the store for like an hour and a half, and I’m dying of boredom.”

“So what counts as entertaining?”

“Use your imagination,” Stiles says, smirking, and Derek raises another eyebrow. “Geez, mind out of the gutter, Hale, just like, talk to me.”

“Why?”

Stiles says, “Look, I know you can do the whole silent sexy brooding thing, but I actually literally have to talk out loud to someone or my head will actually literally explode. Usually there are customers or Sean is here or whatever, but today is super dead, man, and I need like, an outlet.”

The obvious goes unspoken: the alpha pack has everyone way more on edge than usual. They haven’t seen or heard from them in days; the anxiety is an itch beneath the skin that no one can scratch. Maybe Stiles could handle an hour without speaking to another human being if things were normal. But they aren’t. 

Derek stares at him for a second, his gaze impassive. Then he grabs the sweating cup of tea. “Fine. But I deserve sprig two,” he says, and Stiles plucks one from the mint plant growing on the counter, rinses it off, and nestles it into the ice in Derek’s drink.

He puts his elbows on the counter and leans his head on one hand. “Okay, first question. What’s your favorite tree?”

Derek sips his drink. “People have favorite trees?”

Stiles sighs. “Not you, apparently.”

The counter is wide enough that Derek leans against it too. “I guess that means you do have one?”

“Pine trees, dude. Green all year round. Next question. Favorite song.”

They go back and forth, Stiles sipping his iced coffee and Derek sipping his iced tea. It isn't until he sets his drink down that he realizes they've leaned closer to each other while talking. His face is only a few inches away from Derek’s. Everything about him is ridiculous, Stiles thinks, but especially those deep blue eyes.

“Hello? Stiles?”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“I'm asking you a question. When’s your shift over?”

“Oh.” He glances at the clock next to the door. “Half an hour. Give me your phone.”

Up goes that eyebrow like clockwork. Derek still pulls the phone out of his pocket and passes it over without comment. Stiles unlocks it, finds his most recent text to Derek, clicks on the information button, and types his name into the contact list. He hands it back.

“Why do you know my password?”

“I know everyone’s password, dude.” 

"And that's not creepy at all."

Stiles shrugs. “It’s not like I’m selling your secrets on the deep web.”

“That wasn't actually the part that concerned me.”

“Fine, if you have to know, I’ve always gone through all my dad’s emails and texts and I know all of his passwords because I want to know where he is and what’s happening to him, and then I kinda started doing the same thing with the pack—okay but not that extreme,” he says when Derek raises _both_ eyebrows, a definite sign of disapproval. “I just know the passwords. Look, you try being the only human in a pack and see how much you like being left out of the loop and not knowing if someone’s alive or dead in the middle of some epic battle you’re not invited to.”

“You do remember that Allison's human, right?”

“I mean, is she though? Anyone who can shoot arrows that fast loses their claim on the purely human label. And I memorize the numbers in case one of you goes missing." He looks down at the counter. “And you need me to come find you. Everyone keeps all their shit on their phones now, and what if you got texted into a trap by some mysterious person and didn’t tell anyone and we didn’t know where you went and we needed to figure out what happened?”

“So you invade everyone else's privacy to create a network of passwords that's your equivalent of a security blanket.”

“Sure. Why not? A blanket. A blanket in my head full of everyone’s passwords and contact information and birthdays and favorite foods and favorite colors and—“

“Still seems extreme, Stiles.”

“Dude, have you ever not known me not to be extreme?”

“Who knows your password?”

“What? Ah man, no one needs to know mine, you werewolves can find me any time—“

Derek's eyebrows climb miraculously, impossibly higher. 

"Dereeeeeeek," he whines. Derek stares at him impassively. Stiles sighs. “Fine. But don’t tell anyone what it is. With great power comes great responsibility. Literally no one else knows it.”

“Stiles.”

“Eleven twenty two sixty." He pauses for a moment, not sure if he wants to share the next piece of information. "My mom’s birthday.”

Oddly, one side of Derek’s mouth quirks up just the tiniest bit. “Mine’s Laura’s birthday,” he says. They smile quietly at each other for a second until Stiles realizes what they’re doing. He clears his throat and looks away.

The bell over the door jingles again, and they both look over. It’s one of the regulars. Derek pulls back from the counter as Stiles calls, “Hey, Gary, the usual?”

“Please,” says the man at the door. Derek retreats to the corner by the bookshelf, staying out of the way, while Stiles makes a cappuccino and chats with the man at the counter. Derek keeps one ear tuned to the conversation but keeps both eyes on his book. 

Derek doesn’t recognize the man, but he's not a werewolf and doesn’t have any tinge of magic to him. He pricks his ears towards him anyway, reaches out with his senses to ensure he's not a threat. Not to Derek; he can handle himself. To Stiles.

After the first customer leaves, the trickle of customers through the door picks up. Stiles is kept busy enough that Derek can’t talk to him any more, so he relaxes into the soft chair he’s nestled into and reads his book. He lets the conversations slip in and out of his ears, focusing enough to vet each person without losing his book's plot. Finally, Stiles leaves the register and flops into the chair next to him.

“Phew,” he says. “Celeste’s here so I'm done. Survived another Saturday shift.” Out of the corner of his eye, Derek notices his leg jiggling up and down. 

“I had every confidence in you,” Derek says without looking up from his book. “Take off your apron.”

“Derek, I’m shocked,” Stiles says, throwing his hand to his chest. “In all my virginal years, I never—“

“Now whose mind is in the gutter? Take it off and then I'll take you back.”

“Oh my god, you realize you made that sound worse, right?”

“Stiles.” He looks up from his book and raises his eyebrows. 

Stiles smiles snidely back at him. “Fine. Jerk. I’ll be right back.” He stands up. “Hey,” he says, and then hesitates. “Thanks for coming down.” And he walks away before Derek can say anything in response.

Derek’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out to see a text from Scott. He and Isaac are back from San Francisco and he wants to discuss what the other pack told them. He wonders if Derek wants to go meet them at the McCalls’ or if Derek wants Scott and the rest to rendezvous at the loft. _loft,_ he texts back. It's moderately closer. _see you in ten._

“Change of plans,” Derek says when Stiles comes back from the break room. “Scott’s back. I'm not taking you home, we're just going to the loft.”

“Excellent,” Stiles says. “You have the best snacks. Scott’s house sucks for snacks. Let's go, dude.”

They walk through the door. The sun isn’t setting yet, but it’s lower on the horizon, and the clouds are starting to turn purple. The wind feels cooler against Derek’s cheek than it did mid-afternoon, and the trees' shadows have lengthened gracefully across the sidewalk. Beside him, Stiles hums happily to himself, matching Derek's pace to the car. 

It’s a beautiful day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I adore each and every one of you. Stay strong and support each other, lovelies. <3 let me know if I can do anything for you.


End file.
